


so we wait in the dark, until someone sets us free

by andibeth82



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Childhood, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Mild Language, Pre-Movie(s), Protectiveness, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gretel has never been able to understand how they’ve formed this kind of bond between them, this almost spooky instinctual connection where they know when they need each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so we wait in the dark, until someone sets us free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/gifts).



> This is unabashedly one of my favorite films and I'm so happy you gave me so many ideas to work with. I sort of combined two of your prompts: _Pre-movie, Hansel and Gretel meet Mina somehow (searching for a cure for Hansel's sugar sickness?)_ and _Hansel and Gretel between the first witch and the movie._ So, it's not exactly a true prologue in the canon sense (unless you figure maybe Hansel or Mina had some memory loss over the years, heh) but I hope you enjoy! Happy Yuletide!
> 
> [title from Into The Woods]

Gretel remembers cooking with her mother, her warm face glowing in the light of the fire as she cut up herbs and roots and meat and other things that didn’t quite _make sense_ but when she put it all into the pot and cooked it just so, it developed into something sweet and savory, as if by magic (and the irony of those thoughts wouldn’t hit her until years later, and then the memory would make her want to throw up.)

Gretel remembers helping to set the table, always leaving enough space between plates so that Hansel couldn’t steal her food when she wasn’t looking; she remembers the hues of green and gold streaming through the window when the family sat down to dinner together, always together, in the little cottage in the woods that was cozy and inviting and never scary.

Gretel remembers her mother singing after a meal, and her father’s jokes, and tickling her brother late at night in the silence of everyone else's sleep, moments that seem like they could be made up memories because everything was perfect and satisfying and the way a child imagines life to be.

And sometimes, Gretel doesn’t remember anything at all.

 

***

 

The first time she cooks for Hansel, it’s when they’re in the middle of the woods, having been thrown out of their third household in two weeks. This time, at least, the charge had been fair –- “inappropriate behavioral response” the keepers of the home had explained rather snootily – and so Gretel didn’t really mope too much; besides, her bedroom always smelled like a strange combination of moldy deer skin and stale wine and _anyway,_ it wasn’t her fault that the spoiled idiot who lived next door had tried to pull her hair out. As far as she was concerned, he deserved his broken nose.

The whole situation had been the last straw, though. Not so much being pushed out the door (at this point, they were used to abandonment, had hardened their hearts to it), but rather the feeling of always having to look for someone to help them and take pity on them. So they had retreated to the woods, despite their wariness of what lay beyond certain borders of the trees, walking for hours until Hansel’s feet were so blistered that they couldn’t go any further. It was only at his instance that Gretel had forced herself to leave his side for more than five minutes when she realized they both hadn’t eaten in over a day.

The rabbit that she catches off guard is easy to kill, thanks to the knife she'd pilfered off a servant boy before they left town, though cooking it proves to be another matter entirely. Hansel’s skilled enough at making a spit and a fire, and Gretel finds a long stick on which to drape the poor creature, and as it burns under the flames she goes through the painstaking motions of trying to remember the way her mother had skinned and charred her meat _just so_. Still, when she finally hands a piece to Hansel, he looks positively ill, an expression that doesn’t change after he’s swallowed.

“Tastes like fucking rot.”

Gretel feels deflated, but doesn’t let him see her disappointment. “Shows what you know. When did _you_ cook with mother?”

Hansel glares. “Father taught me how to work the garden. Said that’s what all nice boys were supposed to do, and that the girls would take care of the kitchen.” He scuffs a bare foot against the ground. “Anyway, I think I was going to maybe learn how to hunt one day.”

Gretel eases herself next to him, burying her head into his shoulder, the place where she has always felt the safest and the warmest, and she feels him place his mouth on her scalp in retaliation.

“You would’ve been a good fucking hunter.”

“I would’ve been a _great_ fucking hunter,” he corrects, smiling against her skin.

That night, Gretel remembers. Hansel remembers, too, and when she wakes up with tears on her face, grabbing for her brother’s hand, it feels like looking into a mirror. Gretel has never been able to understand how they’ve formed this kind of bond between them, this almost spooky instinctual connection where they know when they need each other, even when they’re separated by something like their own slumber. But she’s learned not to question it, especially not when she finds that letting Hansel hold her is better than any kind of therapy that would probably involve someone telling her to talk about her feelings.

 

***

 

They keep on, moving when it’s light and finding places to stop and rest where they feel safe enough to let down their guard –- an abandoned storage shed, a large tree that’s big enough to provide cover when they lay against it. They spend their next nights in the woods on the outskirts of town, with Hansel keeping guard while Gretel sneaks into the village for food and other amenities. Hansel sits hunched in silence with his head between his legs, tense and anxious, tries not to worry because in theory he knows that he stopped worrying about Gretel a long time ago (the fractured wrist of the man who tried to abduct her had proven as much). No, it's more that he’s realized when they spend apart, he gets irrationally scared that it will be the one time he fails to protect her.

And if there was anything he was going to uphold, it was the last promise he made to their mother, before she died.

_Take care of Gretel. You’re the only true thing she has in the world._

A soft rustling startles him out of his thoughts and he looks up as his sister moves a branch, gliding into his space.

“How’d it go?” Hansel asks, more out of habit than anything else, because she looks fine, she sounds fine, and Hansel knows that if anything really had gone wrong, she either wouldn’t have returned, or he would’ve been able to read it on her face.

“Okay.” Gretel sits down, taking off her bag, and starts unearthing a multitude of items. “Bread, cheese, a few pieces of meat.” She grins, tossing over a package that Hansel thinks feel more like rocks than slices of food. “Getting in and out was easy...they don’t even bother to lock their stores. I took as much as I could carry. This should last us for a few days, at least.”

Hansel nods, opening the bag of meat, sticking two dirty fingers inside. “Find anything else?”

Gretel presses her lips together and shakes her head, turning her satchel upside down and dumping out a pile of papers. “I found the infirmary, took whatever I could…but I don’t know if there’s anything in here. They didn’t seem to have too many books on sugar sickness.”

He reaches for one of the fallen pieces of paper and scans it with squinted eyes, before reaching for another and doing the same, letting the awkward quiet stretch between them.

“Not a damn thing,” he says with a sigh after a few more moments of perusing, responding to Gretel’s apologetic look with a shrug as he looks up. “It’s okay. Next town, then.”

They don’t talk much after that, the mood slightly tampered by the outcome of their conversation, and Gretel uses a small knife to cut thin slices of cheese from the wheel she’s stolen, sandwiching it and the hard meat between two pieces of limp bread.

“Like fucking royalty,” Hansel says, taking a bite of his sandwich. He kicks his legs out and shivers compulsively as a tremor that he can’t control shakes its way down his spine. “Shit, it’s cold.”

Gretel glares. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Watch _yours_.” He moves closer until he’s leaning into her and she shifts to accommodate him, breathing in his scent for a long time before speaking again.

“You’ve been taking your meds?”

Hansel stops mid-chew, jerking his head in her direction. “Of course,” he says a little harshly. “Fuck, I’d die without my shots, you know that.”

“Well, I like to make sure, okay?” She returns the answer testily, and the tone is one he recognizes because he uses it often, when he’s scared and frustrated and doesn’t know how to really respond to a situation, at least, not without lashing out. He shoves the rest of the sandwich down his throat and swallows painfully.

“I’ll take first watch tonight.”

“You should sleep,” she says quietly as her thumb skirts over his palm, and he shakes his head.

“You got the food. Let me take watch.”

He eyes her face until her features go slack, the lines evening out around her lips, watches as she secures the food in spare clothes, away from prying animals and other potential dangers that lurk in the darkness. Gretel puts a blanket on the ground, curling herself around his legs with her face pressed into his side.

“You ever think about what mom wanted for us?” she asks before she drifts off to sleep, and Hansel blinks back sudden tears.

“Yeah,” he admits, and it feels almost like a lie, because he doesn’t know what their parents would have wanted for them.

But he does know that it couldn't have been this.

 

***

 

They make their second kill by accident; the witch is clumsy and Gretel is too fast, and Hansel catches her in one of his traps while Gretel manages to lop her head right off her rope-addled body with a sharp wire. They find an abandoned cabin with a cold hearth, and Hansel drags the body to the fire while Gretel pilfers the home to see if there’s anything they can steal that’s useful to their survival.

She holds his hand while the witch burns, her body turning into billowing thick black smoke, and Hansel forces himself to watch, because for some reason, he can’t turn away.

_Motherfucking witches._

They feel a little spooked spending the night in the house; it feels like their childhood all over again. But they do it anyway, mostly because they don’t want to bother to look for someplace else to sleep. Besides, Hansel reasons as he climbs into a small bed, squeezing himself between Gretel and the wall _,_ as cautious as they are, both are, he knows they’ll take any opportunity to relax somewhere that’s not a hard ground or a moss-covered mattress.

He hears Gretel laugh quietly beside him, as if she's read his mind, and finds himself laughing as well.

It’s the little things.

 

***

 

They leave the cabin early the next morning as the sun comes up over the top of the trees. Gretel repacks their bags while Hansel affords himself a hasty shower, which is really just him dousing his body with buckets of water outside. But it’s clean and private and better than using the lake, Gretel realizes, as she washes the dirt out of her own hair. Truth be told, it feels like luxury.

“Ever think that one day we won’t have to be on the fucking run anymore?” Hansel asks, scuffing a foot against the ground as they leave the house and village behind. Gretel snorts.

“Yeah, of course. In my fucking dreams.”

Hansel smiles, pulling up the rear. “I say the next place we go, we try to get our hands on some weapons. I’d feel a hell of a lot better walking around with more than a knife and my own fists.”

“Weapons cost money,” Gretel replies shortly. “And money is something we don’t have. If it was, we wouldn’t be worrying about your sickness or stealing our food from taverns and sleeping in the woods, right?”

“Well, there’s gotta be something we can fucking work with,” Hansel argues. “Can’t we, like, raid a blacksmiths shop or something?”

Gretel rolls her eyes. “If you’re so set on finding weapons, why don’t _you_ go into town? See how easy it is to steal without anyone fucking knowing.”

They continue to navigate their path in silence, stopping when Hansel needs a break for his medication, Gretel choosing their resting spot near a rushing stream that looks deserted enough. He sinks to the ground and grabs for his equipment, while Gretel slings off her pack.

“Take ten,” she announces, walking to the water and splashing the clear liquid over her face, running her blackened hands underneath the cold stream. It’s when she straightens up that she notices Hansel looking rather dazedly into the distance, and she follows his gaze to find a younger looking woman a few yards away, her body also bent over the stream, blonde hair falling out of her loose ponytail and into her eyes.

Gretel backs away immediately, her defenses sparking, and positions herself so that her body is directly shielding her brother’s lazy form.

“What do you want?”

The woman raises her head slowly, as if up until now she’s been oblivious to the two teenagers standing not two feet away from her.

“Nothing,” she says after a moment, her voice soft. “Just collecting water. The same as you, I presume.”

Gretel hears Hansel breathe a little easier behind her, but isn’t entirely comfortable with letting down her guard just yet. There were people, she knew, people that wandered into the woods under the guise of weary travelers -- people with the intention of finding those on the run, whose job was based on a hefty reward, should they be able to bring in fugitives who were breaking the law by stealing and hustling. And right now, Gretel can’t see any evidence that their new acquaintance isn’t one of them.

“What’s your name?”

The woman stands fully, tucking the folds of her top into her skirt and tugging at the corsets around her chest. “Mina,” she says after a moment in what Gretel notes is a heavily accented tone. “This stream is on my property.”

Gretel opens her mouth and then closes it, her breaths quickening. “Oh,” she says, moving slightly, allowing Hansel room so that he can stand. The three of them stare silently at each other, as if sizing up each other’s authenticity.

“Your friend looks tired.”

“He’s not my friend,” Gretel says insistently, grabbing roughly for Hansel's hand. “He’s my brother. And he’s fine, thank you very much.”

“Gretel,” Hansel says quietly and she doesn’t bother to turn around, even though the voice disturbs her more than she wants to let on. She _knows_ that voice, the one that signals Hansel probably needs more than his medication, that he needs actual food and water and rest in order to keep himself moving. It's something she's been trying to put out of her mind, mostly in the hopes that they would be able to keep moving long enough until they found another village to make a home in, where they could take care of themselves more fully.

“I live right up the road,” Mina continues, pointing behind Gretel's head. “If you’d like to come back with me, you're more than welcome. There’s food at my place, and you can wash your clothes. No one disturbs me too much.” She softens her voice so that it's even quieter, stepping a little closer.

“You can trust me. I promise.”

Gretel thins her lips. “We don’t trust anybody,” she says shortly but when Hansel starts to walk she follows slowly, keeping one hand on the knife in her pocket, fingers clutched securely around the hilt.

 

***

 

The house Mina leads them to reminds Gretel of her own, a large cabin with a loft and a bed, a stove in the corner and a fireplace in front of a long wooden table. She lingers by the door, clutching her brother’s arm while Mina rummages around in some cabinets, pulling various items from the shelves.

“You can come in, you know,” she says lightly, lighting up the stove and closing an iron door on the flames. “I don’t bite.”

Hansel moves first, taking a seat at the table and Gretel sits down next to him, filing away in her mind that at some point, they really need to have a talk about how easily he gives in to other people wanting to help him. 

“Where are you going?”

“Augsburg,” Hansel says automatically before Gretel can think of an appropriate response, and she kicks him swiftly in the shin while she glares. It's technically a lie, they hadn’t _officially_ decided what town they were going to try to infiltrate next, though their final destination was always going to be Augsburg, thanks to what they knew of the village and what it could offer in terms of reinforcements.

“You don’t want to go to Augsburg,” Mina responds, shaking her head. “They’re not accommodating to children there.”

“We’re not children,” Gretel says defiantly. “Besides, how do we know that you’re not just saying that because you want us to go somewhere else, where you’ll attack us?”

“You don’t,” Mina says with an air of indifference, placing two steaming bowls on the table. “But if you live your entire life without being able to trust anyone but each other, you’ll never learn how to tell the good from the bad.”

Gretel doesn’t answer, instead choosing to look down at the soup that Mina has served them. Part of her feels like she’ll be disappointing herself if she gives in so easily, seduced with something as simple as hot food, but she also has to admit that whatever is in front of her smells more appetizing than anything they’ve eaten in weeks. She watches Hansel dig in voraciously, knowing he probably hasn't even bothered to think about if there are consequences involved in his actions.

“The same thing goes for accepting help,” Mina says, as if sensing Gretel's thoughts, and she lifts a spoon slowly, trying to control her speed so that she doesn’t make herself sick by overeating.

“What do you do?” Gretel asks finally when she comes up for air, and Mina smiles as she takes a seat across from them. Up close, Gretel can see that she looks much younger than she had initially appeared back at the lake, her hair more ruddy red than sunshine yellow, bright eyes and smooth skin.

“I make my living as a healer,” she says, picking up her own spoon. “I used to work in one of the villages, but a witch ravaged the town and drove out most of the people living there. I travel sometimes, but mostly, I sell my medicines at various outposts, or to other travelers I happen to come across.”

“A healer?” Gretel asks, and she feels Hansel perk up beside her.

“Yes,” Mina says, and Gretel watches as the woman's gaze flicks over to her brother. “I’m not a miracle worker, though I do my best to help where I can.”

“Can you help my brother?” The words tumble out before she can stop them, before she can let herself think about any lingering dangers, and she finds Hansel's palm under the table, entwining their fingers together. “He ate a lot of candy and got really sick when he was younger. Now he needs injections a lot. But we haven’t found a way to fix it.”

“Sugar sickness,” Mina says thoughtfully as Gretel nods, and she looks a little sad. “It’s uncommon, but not untreatable. But, I’m not sure if I have anything here that will help.”

“Of course not,” Hansel mutters bitterly and Gretel squeezes his hand harder, knocking their shins together.

“I can give you these, though,” Mina continues, getting up and walking to a large wooden cabinet. She undoes a few locks and throws open the doors, and Gretel tries to control the shocked look she feels crawling over her face as she manages a glimpse of what’s inside.

“Where did you get all this?” Gretel lets her eyes wander over the stash of weapons, crossbows and guns glinting in the dim light coming through the window. Mina smiles.

“My husband –- when he was alive –- he managed to take these when we fled for the first time,” she says. “I have no use for them, since I don’t encounter many people who want to hurt me. But I’m guessing you two are a different story.”

Gretel doesn't answer, getting up and reaching for one of the smaller guns while Hansel, who has been moving slowly behind her, reaches out for a sword.

“You’re just going to…to give these to us?” she asks incredulously, finally finding her voice, and Mina nods.

“I don’t have anything to help your brother, and I wish I did. At least this way, you can be protected, and save your money for medicine.” She pauses, sitting down again.  “Please, let me help. I’d like to do this or you.”

Gretel nods, unsure of how to respond, while Hansel digs more thoroughly into the closet. Part of her feels like she's walked into a dream, like everything that's happened in the past few hours is too good to be true, and the realization makes her feel uneasy in a way that she can't describe.

“Holy shit,” Hansel mutters, breaking into her thoughts as he comes away from the cabinet, emerging from within its depth with another gun. “We could kill sixteen witches with this.”

“Hansel!” Gretel admonishes sharply, whirling around and pinning him with a hard stare that she knows he can read. He cringes, too late realizing his mistake, but Mina seems to either not have heard -- or if she has, Gretel thinks that maybe she’s one of the first people who doesn’t care. (And really, wouldn't just that be the topper on the fucking cake? That in addition to food and weapons and a kind person taking them in, said person doesn't even care about their secret?)

“Thank you,” Gretel acknowledges after a long moment, lowering her voice as she turns back around, and Mina tilts her head.

“I can make up beds for you, if you’d like to sleep here and avoid traveling in the dark. I trust you’ll want to leave as soon as you can.”

Gretel feels the air seize in her chest. "Yes,” she says quietly, something sounding hollow in her words. “It's not that we wouldn't like to stay. It's just..." She trails off, forcing a smile over her lips, and Mina nods as if she understands the implied answer better than Gretel could ever explain.

“I know,” she says gently, and Gretel thinks she almost sounds a little sad. “You always just move on.”

 

***

 

When Gretel goes to bed that night, she thinks she’s going to sleep better than she has in years, despite the fact that the bed that Mina has made up for them is less than comfortable. But for the first time in what feels like forever, she’s warm and she’s safe, and that alone makes her feel like she’s had sixteen weights lifted off her chest.

Not that the rest of her thoughts get by her brother, because of course they don't.

“Can’t sleep?” Hansel asks groggily as she turns over, their noses touching, eyes wide. She smiles a little wistfully as she shares his breath.

“What gave it away?”

“Your body is tense,” Hansel says, putting a hand on her leg, letting his fingers dance over the parts of her skin where her dress rides up her thigh. “It’s only tense when you can’t relax.”

Gretel makes a noise and burrows deeper into her brother’s arms, pressing her face against his chest and wrapping her hands around his body.

“You wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?” he asks after a moment and his voice is soft, unlike the brash way they usually talk to each other, the way they’ve gotten used to communicating on a daily basis. Gretel swallows in the dark, feeling water start to pool at the corner of her eyes.

“I…do you think it’s going to be better?" she asks, trying to control her voice, and she almost hates that she's letting herself feel this vulnerable. "That this is the start of something changing?”

She feels the way Hansel's chest tries to even itself out in erratic spurts of movement, as if he’s trying to calm himself enough to speak.

“I hope so,” he says quietly, smoothing back her hair. “But even if it doesn’t, we’re going to get through it, right? That's what mother would've wanted.”

Gretel nods, because Gretel _remembers_ , and tucks her head underneath his chin. She doesn't whisper the words, the _I love you_ that hangs on her lips but she knows Hansel doesn't need to hear it, knows he's already heard it from the way that he kisses her. She lets him tighten his hold on her body, whispering what Gretel thinks might be lullabies of the past, until she finally feels secure enough to fall into something resembling a restless sleep.

 

***

 

Mina sends them off early the next morning after breakfast, and Gretel realizes that despite her misgivings –- despite her mistrust –- she’s felt more at home in the woman’s house than she has in a long time. There's a string that tugs inside her chest, one that opens a box of long-closed emotions when she lets herself think about how she might not have a feeling like this for awhile, and she tries to put it out of her mind as she packs her bag. 

“We won't see you,” Gretel says as she takes a crossbow gingerly from the closet, and wraps a few knives in her satchel. Mina smiles as she hands over another small bag, which Gretel notices is filled with fruit and bread and other assorted breakfast items, as well as a few medical herbs.

“Never say never. The woods aren't as dangerous as you might think.”

Gretel huffs out a quiet laugh. “My parents used to tell me that,” she muses a little sadly, watching as Hansel secures a gun to his hip, one that looks almost as large as he is. Mina smiles gently, following Gretel's gaze.

"Your parents sound like they were smart people. I'd advise you to believe them."

"Yeah." Gretel hoists her bag higher onto her shoulder, the memory pricking at her brain like a forgotten alarm that needs to be acknowledged. "Yeah, they were." She holds out her hand, and Mina looks a little startled but returns the gesture just as serenely.

“We...we don't know how to repay you, really. For everything." She swallows hard. "But thank you."

Mina gently pushes against Gretel's back, nudging her towards the open the door. “Just promise me that you'll remember that not everyone is bad," she cautions as she leads them outside. "Not even a stranger."

Gretel nods, steeling her gaze. She takes a deep breath and Hansel's hand, stepping into the sunlight, re-entering the world of the unknown.

 

***

 

“ _Fucking witches_ ,” Hansel mutters as he shoots his gun.

“ _Fucking witches_ ,” Gretel mutters back as she releases the arrow on her crossbow.

They leave the bodies to burn and bind their promises to each other in the signature of bloodied hands as they continue on, two beacons holding a steadfast light of hope where the corners of the world are the most dark.


End file.
